


No Party Like a Sourwolf Party

by littlemisshamish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:45:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisshamish/pseuds/littlemisshamish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles throws Derek a birthday party. It's not his birthday or anything, but it's the thought that counts, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Party Like a Sourwolf Party

“Happy Birthday, Derek! Now blow your candles.”  
  
Okay, it’s not really Derek’s birthday today. It was a month ago and he didn’t bother to tell us. Maybe it’s because at that time, he was busy ripping the throats of his enemies. Not exactly my idea of a happy birthday, but I’m Stiles, a normal teenage boy, and he’s a werewolf. Maybe that’s what werewolves do on their birthday. Sing “Happy birthday to you” with blood dripping on their werewolf chins. Eek. So my point is we didn’t get to celebrate his birthday. And looking at Derek, he sure needs to party. His constant frown, clenched jaws and fists..have you seen the lines between his eyebrows? It’s like there’s a frickin’ Grand Canyon in there! I bet you could see it from outer space!  
  
So here I am standing in our kitchen, holding out a cake to Derek, urging him to huff and puff and blow out the candles. Pun intended. Don’t even ask me how he got here. There was a lot of screaming and running that went on. I even scraped my knee! But for all my hard work, he just stands there staring at me like he’s never seen a Stiles before.  
  
“It’s not my birthday.”  
  
“Yeah, I know, but we missed your birthday, so we’re going to celebrate it now. In here. At my house. My dad’s away, so you shouldn’t worry.”  
  
“It’s not my birthday.”  
  
“I said I know. Just blow these candles and let’s get this party started.”  
  
“It’s not my birth—”  
  
“Oh my God. I swear if I hear you say ‘It’s not my birthday.’ one more time, I’m gonna slam this cake on.. your.. face.” I swallow hard. The guy’s looking at me like I’m Little Red Riding Hood. Not a good sign. Well, I was never really good at parties.  
  
“You’re an idiot.”  
  
“And you’re a no-fun, death-staring, teeth-baring, stress-inducing, Stiles-hating sourwolf. Now please, blow the frickin’ candles and let’s get this over with.”  
  
At first I thought he was gonna eat me, but he seems to change his mind and blows the candles instead.  
  
I smile and gesture at the back door. “Shall we?”  
  
He rolls his eyes and follows me out.  
  
“There’s no one here.”  
  
“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t know who your friends are, or if you have any. Judging by your bossy, moody, aggressive behavior, I highly doubt that—”  
  
Death stare.  
  
“Right. So Scott can’t go because he has to study for the exams. He’s failing more than half of our subjects. Can you believe _that_? Even _I_ can do better than that. And Allison. Well, you’re not exactly BFFs, so... Lydia says—”  
  
“All right. Enough. I get it.”  
  
He walks towards the table and picks something up.  
  
“Party hats. Really.” It isn’t a question. There is a I-have-never-met-anyone-so-idiotic-in-my-life look plastered on his face.  
  
“Look, man. Don’t judge me. I’ve never arranged a party for a werewolf before. My dad once threw a party for my dog. When I was seven. And boy, he surely enjoyed the party hats, so I thought..” I’ll be lucky if Derek doesn’t rip me to shreds by the end of the evening.  
  
“Anyway, want me to play some music? Make the atmosphere more lively, you know? Yeah! Woo-hoo!” And less hostile. Less I-will-kill-you-Stiles-I-swear hostile.  
  
I turn the DVD on and play some dance music. I look at Derek and there he is, still standing there, lively as ever, as fun as reading the Terms  & Conditions agreement.  
  
I hand him a punch. The drink-punch, not the other one. If I tried punching him, he would grab my fist and powder my bones without so much as a blink. Contrary to what people believe, I do not have a death wish.  
  
He just looks at the drink as if he expects it to come alive and eat him.  
  
“Drink it. Come on, I didn’t poison that or put a love potion or anything.”  
  
He does. Not that he has any choice. I will just annoy the hell out of him until he drinks it.  
  
“Delicious, huh? I made that myself.”  
  
No answer. Maybe he’s shy.  
  
“Having fun yet?”  
  
“Yes, I’m having so much fun that I want to smash your skull into that wall.”  
  
“Ooh.. Graphic.” The image of my head smashing into our wall is not exactly pleasing. Try again, Stiles.  
  
“Try to loosen up, Derek. Come on. Enjoy yourself. It’s your party!”  
  
“No, Stiles. This is not a party. This is you and me standing in your backyard—”  
  
..well we do have chairs.  
  
“—with party hats and chocolate cake and this.. this _thing_ you call music playing loudly in the background. This is foolish and insane, and all I want is to go home and forget about this nightmare.” The last word is punctuated by a loud pop! of a balloon bursting as he grabs one and, well, bursts it.  
  
That’s not nice. I sit down and rethink my whole life. Nah, I just sit down.  
  
“Fine. You know what? Just go. It’s all right. I’ll just sit here and party. All by myself. With no one to talk to. Eat all this food. That I made. Play with these balloons. That I almost had asthma blowing. A party I planned and arranged. With my blood, sweat, and tears. And no one here to celebrate with me. Not even the birthday celebrant.”  
  
“It’s not m—” No, Derek, don’t interrupt my drama queen moment.  
  
“Whose simple ‘thank you’ would have been enough. Go on, Derek. Leave me here. Alone.” And for maximum effect: “‘Happy birthday, Derek!’ ‘Oh, thank you, Stiles, you are such a wonderful f—’”  
  
“Stiles. Don’t you ever shut up?”  
  
I just shrug and change the song to “Alone” by Heart. And just for kicks, I begin to sing along with it.  
  
“Till NOOOOW.. I always GOT BY on my ooown.. I NEVER REALLY CARED until I met youuu.. AND NOW IT CHILLS ME TO THE BOOOONE!”  
  
“Stiles. STILES. Stop. Just stop, okay? Werewolves have sensitive ears. Mine will bleed if you continue doing that.. that.. whatever it is you’re doing.”  
  
He sits down next to me. “You’ll stay then?”  
  
“Yes.” Human-1 Werewolf-0 Never mind that he said that with a hiss.  
  
“All right, birthday boy, let’s cut your cake and eat.”  
  
“Don’t call me that.”  
  
“Don’t call you what?”  
  
“That.”  
  
“I don’t call you ‘that.’”  
  
“I mean don’t call me birthday boy, you idiot. Now go cut that cake before I cut your throat.”  
  
“You know, your sweetness and good nature never fail to touch my heart. Here. I baked that.” I stuffed his plate with chocolate cake.  
  
“What are you waiting for? Wolf it down. Get it? _Wolf_?” My laugh dies down as Derek gives me another death glare.  
  
“What is this, exactly?”  
  
“It’s mud that I decorated with your name and some candles. What do you think, it’s chocolate cake, of course!”  
  
“It doesn’t taste like chocolate.” Oh my God. It’s that bad?  
  
“Hm. I guess I should have bought a cake instead of baking it.” I stand up and survey the food on the table. Surely there must be something edible in there somewhere. “Let’s just try the other ones. Pasta. Do you like pasta?”  
  
He reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back to my seat. “It’s all right. Sit down.” Wow. Who are you and what did you do to Derek? Minutes before he was trying very hard not to swallow me whole and now he’s gentle and tolerant. I swear I didn’t put anything to his drink.  
  
“Okay. More punch?”  
  
He just shakes his head.  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
No reply.  
  
“What, the cake’s so good you can’t help but call out my name?” Or maybe the cake’s so bad he wants to tell me “Stiles, I think you’re poisoning me.”  
  
He says nothing. Which is weird because I expected him to give me another one of those death glares he saves exclusively for me.  
  
“Stiles.” Oh all right, I understand now.  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
He looks up at me. “I didn’t thank you.”  
  
“But you want to.”  
  
“Yeah.” He smiles and I almost choke on my drink.  
  
Mission accomplished.  
  


 


End file.
